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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339298">One Of Them Girls</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite'>WhyDoIWrite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Then and Now [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Women's Soccer RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Ok I lied, That is all, They meet in a bar, and two girls falling in love, it's just dialogue, on Valentine's Day, that's not all, there's also Valentine's Day, which is not corny at all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:15:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sonny, she cannot possibly be straight.  That woman looks like she was born to crush men’s souls and heal women’s hearts. Look at her.”  And that's the problem, really.  Sonnett has been looking at her, and could keep looking at her, all night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Then and Now [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One of Them Girls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em><br/>Are you one of them girls</em>
  <br/>
  <em>That peels off the Bud Light label</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Just might run a pool table</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Roll your eyes if I call you an angel</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She’s too pretty for Sonnett to approach her.  Maybe pretty isn’t the right word.  She’s gorgeous. No, stunning. That’s what Sonnett would say to her if she had the balls to.  She’s fucking amazing is what she is.  Tall.  Broad shoulders. Tan. Strong. Sonnett can’t know that for sure – technically – but she’s pretty sure that the woman has to be strong.  She looks strong. <em>So</em> strong. Strong enough to throw Sonnett down on a bed. Or pin her up against a wall. Sonnett’s picky about what she does, but she doesn’t think she would be picky with this woman. She thinks she’d probably let this woman do anything she wanted to her.  Or with her.  Or for her… Yeah… maybe she’s not a top after all. Is she going to have to reevaluate her whole life now?</p><p>Sonnett wishes she could see the stranger’s eyes, but they’re downcast as she picks at the label on her longneck.  God, she just has a presence about her.  She's like an angel, almost too intimidating for most of the men in the bar, it seems, and Sonnett can’t pull her eyes away. She thinks that should be enough – the staring. With any other girl, it would be enough.  Any other girl would look around the bar eventually, catch her staring. But this girl isn’t any other girl. If she were, their eyes would lock, and then maybe she would be brave enough to walk over to the stranger and say hi.  Offer to buy her a beer. Sit down and chat. Ok, so maybe that’s a little bit of an exaggeration.  Maybe only about half of that story would actually occur as she pictures it.  But still, Sonnett could at least dream about it… if the girl would look up.  She doesn’t, so intently focused on scraping every single bit of the sticky remnants of the label off the beer bottle. Her hands are mesmerizing. The way they move, but also, they’re nice hands. Big hands. Short nails with a simple white polish. Blunt fingertips. And God, how she wants to feel those fingertips on the small of her back, barely there, as they talk. Or guiding her out of the bar, maybe. Yeah… Sonnett definitely wouldn’t be picky… if this woman wanted to bend her over, or fuck her in the bathroom, or in the back of her car, or in the…</p><p>“Earth to Sonny,” Mal waves a hand in front of her face, and Sonnett realizes she’s been holding her beer to her lips without taking a sip for God only knows how long.  “What’s wrong with you? Where’d you go? You aren’t thinking about <em>her</em> again, are you?”</p><p>The her in question is not the blonde across the bar, unfortunately.  The her in question is Sonnett’s ex, who moved down to Atlanta and in with her. And that? Well that was a <em>disaster</em> of the highest level. Whoever made the rule that people shouldn’t live together before marriage was an <em>idiot</em> of the highest level, because OCD and “carefree,” also known to Emily as <em>ohmygod how do you live like this?!?</em>, do not mesh. Definitely important to figure out that shit before marriage.  How something so simple, like washing dishes and putting away laundry could lead to <em>So. Many. Fights</em>. is beyond Sonnett’s comprehension. She didn’t want it to end. She doesn’t feel good about her ex moving out, even though she got her orderly space back. In fact, she was downright devastated about it.  Still is, kind of. Which is why Mal dragged her out tonight.  To a straight bar. Which is like… <em>why</em>? Who’s she going to pick up at a straight bar? Ok, so truthfully, she wouldn’t pick up anyone in a gay bar either, but someone could always pick her up there.  Here?  Here’s she left surrounded by a bunch of heterosexuals, including <em>her</em>.</p><p>“No,” Sonnett mumbles, setting her beer down without taking a sip and picking up the whiskey that Mal ordered her because “beer’s not enough, this is a whiskey kind of night.” It would have been enough, honestly, considering that she hardly ever has a beer, or any other alcohol for that matter.  “I wasn’t thinking about her at all.”</p><p>“Liar.”</p><p>“Seriously, I wasn’t. I was…” Sonnett’s voice trails off as she watches a man approach the blonde. <em>Brave.  Or maybe he’s her boyfriend</em>, Sonnett thinks. But she doesn’t react to him like he’s her boyfriend. She kind of flinches under his touch, though she does turn on her barstool and face him when he talks to her. Then again, she rolls her eyes when he talks, so that has to mean something.  Unfortunately, the woman downs the rest of her beer and follows him. To Sonnett’s relief, it’s to a pool table, not the dancefloor, and Sonnett watches as she carefully selects a cue off the wall while he racks the balls.</p><p>“Oh.  Ohhhhhh,” Mal smirks, following Sonnett’s eyes.  “She’s pretty.”</p><p>“She’s sure something,” Sonnett murmurs, eyes glued to the woman, as she takes another long sip from her glass. Perhaps getting drunk would help in the courage department.</p><p>“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Mal nudges her, wiggling her eyebrows. “Go talk to her.”</p><p>“She’s busy,” Sonnett deflects, but they both know she wouldn’t go talk to her even if she were back at the bar, sitting all alone.</p><p>“Fine.  When the game’s over then. How long can pool last?” Sonnett shrugs. “Can’t be that long. There’re like a bunch of holes and not a bunch of balls. Maybe 5 minutes. Plenty of time for you to decide if you’re going with that pickup line or you’re going with that sleezy ‘Can I buy you a drink?,’ or if you’re just going to say ‘hi,” Mal says, already invested in this on Sonnett’s behalf.  “I think go with ‘hi.’ You’re funny, but not as much when you’re nervous. And you’re not cool enough to ask her if you can buy her a drink.”</p><p>“Gee thanks for the confidence boost, Mal.  I totally got this now. She'll want to wife me up by the end of the night, prolly.” Sonnett rolls her eyes and decides drunk might be preferable because it makes Mal more tolerable. </p><p>“That’s the spirit!” Mal punches her shoulder.</p><p>“I’m not going to talk to her, Mal.”</p><p>“Because why?” Mal throws up her hands. “Wasn’t that the whole point of you coming out? To find you a girlfriend? Or a one-night stand? Or someone to fuck in the bathroom?”</p><p><em>Ew, did Mal just read my mind</em>? Sonnett almost panics. <em>That’ll teach me to have thoughts that objectify random women in bars.</em> She throws her head back and sighs, staring at the ceiling. This was such a bad idea, letting Mal talk her into coming out tonight. She would have been better off at home under the covers watching HGTV reruns with a cup of tea. She hopes Dansby gets here soon and she can find a way to gracefully exit without much protest from her friend.</p><p>“I know what you’re thinking,” Mal shoves her. “Stop acting like an old lady. You’re not going home early. At least not til you hit on her.”</p><p>“So if I hit on her and fail, I’m off the hook?”  Mal nods, and Sonnett considers it for a second. “I’m not going to hit on a straight woman, Mal.”</p><p>Mal laughs and then coughs, so taken aback that she almost spews her drink. “Sonny, she cannot possibly be straight.  That woman looks like she was born to crush men’s souls and heal women’s hearts. <em>Look</em> at her.”</p><p>And that's the problem, really.  Sonnett has been looking at her, and could keep looking at her, all night.  Sonnett buries her head in her hands, rubbing her eyes in frustration, but she chances one more look in the woman’s direction<em>. Maybe</em>, she thinks, though she’s not on the other side of convinced yet. She gives off a vibe. But there’s no reason why she’d be gay and be here. She must like guys hitting on her if she’s here.  It requires further observation, she decides.</p><p>“Look, she’s about to win.  Get ready to go shoot your shot," Mal nudges her again.</p><p>Sonnett snorts. The only shot she’ll be shooting tonight is liquor. As much as she doesn’t want to do that, it would be way better than shooting her shot with the beauty who just kicked that guy’s ass at pool. The next man who had been waiting along with wall, looking the blonde up and down all game steps up to take her on, but he’s delayed with a firm hand to the chest because the first loser owes her a drink. Sonnett’s eyes follow them to the bar, where they end up not too far from her.</p><p>“Ugh,” Mal groans dramatically, and then she looks down at her phone and perks up.  “Wait here, I have a plan. Just go along with it, please? Act annoyed. Angry. I don’t know, something. Be your normal self.”</p><p>Nothing Mal could do to play wingwoman could possibly be a good idea, Sonnett is certain.  At all. She runs her hand through her hair and rests her chin on her fist, waiting for the inevitable disaster that Mal is cooking up. What she didn’t expect was the heaviness of a man’s hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“Are you a parking ticket? Cause you’ve got <em>fiiiiinnnee</em> written all over you.” The hand slips lower on her back.  “Let me buy you a drink.”</p><p>In the split second she doesn’t recognize the voice, she <em>is</em> annoyed. No, angry, actually. She hates guys hitting on her, which is why she hates straight bars. Then she realizes, before she even looks over her shoulder, that it’s Dansby. As she turns around, she’s about to laugh and shove him away when she remembers Mal’s “plan.” <em>This</em> is probably her stupid plan. More ridiculous than Sonnett could have predicted. “Nah, I’m good.  Thanks.” She turns back around on the stool, ignoring her friend’s boyfriend.</p><p>“Oh come on, honey. What are you drinking?”</p><p>“I said I’m good.”</p><p>“Where’s your boyfriend?  A beautiful woman like you can’t be here all alone.”</p><p>Sonnett’s thankful she knows him, because the way he leans in, leering at her, is disturbing. And she thinks Dansby is lucky she adores him, because even though she knows this is Mal’s fault, she has a strong desire to knee him in the crotch, especially when he puts his hand on her thigh and tries to turn her towards him. “I’m good. Thanks,” she grits out through her teeth</p><p>“Baby, is this guy bothering you?”  Now <em>that’s</em> not a man’s hand around her shoulders. And that’s not a voice that she recognizes. It’s husky and confident and utterly delicious.   “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, asshole. She has a girlfriend. And she’s told you now, three times, that she doesn’t want you to buy her a drink.” And then the woman’s lips are on her neck, slowly working their way up and she whispers in Sonnett's ear: ‘Just go with it, he’s leaving.’” Her breath is heavy and warm and Sonnett feels all of it between her legs.</p><p>Jesus Christ. Sonnett thinks she’s going to die. Dansby backs away slowly with his hands in the air as the woman’s arm tightens around her, pulling her even closer. So close that Sonnett thinks that the cause of her death might be asphyxiation – by her own hand – because her brain is not telling her lungs to take in air anymore.  Whoever said breathing was an autonomic process was also fucking full of shit, because she can now confirm that it is not.</p><p>“Hi,” the woman flashes the most beautiful smile Sonnett has ever seen as she sits on what had been Mal’s stool only minutes ago.   She’s even more breathtaking up close. Her features are striking. That strong jawline. A single dimple. Her fucking neck – Sonnett’s never seen anything like it. And those eyes. They crinkle when she smiles and that makes Sonnett swoon. Even up close, she can’t figure out what color they are. They’re like a grayish-green. She’d give anything to get a better look, but she’d need to be closer and it would involve a lot of staring, and shit! she’s staring. “Buy me a drink. He’s still watching us,” the woman purrs, her fingers playing over Sonnett’s bicep.</p><p>Thank the good Lord in Heaven for the angel that is Dansby Swanson being able to pull off creep of the year. Even if she does die tonight, she wants to make sure she gets that out in the universe.  She signals the bartender. “Bud Light.” <em>Oh, fuck</em>, Sonnett thinks. This woman may have been totally unaware she was staring earlier, memorizing the slope of her shoulders and her beer order, but now it’s totally obvious. She turns bright red and can’t even look at her now. But then the woman’s hand drops to her knee, and when Sonnett does chance a look, she’s still smiling.</p><p>“Know my order already, huh?  Interesting...”  Death by embarrassment is also thing, it turns out. But the blonde continues.  “Don’t shake my hand, you’ll give us away, but I’m Lindsey.”</p><p>“Emily.  Sonnett.  Everyone calls me Sonny though.” <em>That was dumb. Too much info. She’s a stranger</em>.  “Um, you’re really good at pool,” Sonnett changes the subject.  “Who taught you to play?” Sonnett’s curious, but she’s also angling to try to find out if Lindsey’s straight. Pool seems like something a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, might be responsible for teaching her.</p><p>“My dad.”</p><p>Relief surges through her body, but that doesn’t exactly clear things up for her.</p><p>“What brings you out tonight, Emily?” Lindsey keeps one hand on her beer, but keeps the other on Emily’s knee, not giving her a break to breathe.</p><p>“I- um- you know… break up.”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“Not like super recent or anything” Sonnett continues. “A while ago. Not like a long while ago. An appropriate amount of time ago,” she rambles nervously. “I’m not looking for like a rebound. I’m not looking for anything. Just here. Enjoying my beer.”</p><p>Lindsey props her elbow on the bar and leans against her hand, watching Sonnett, letting her ramble.  She doesn’t pick at the label on this beer like she did before when she was sitting at the bar alone, just twirls her finger around the lip. “What’s an appropriate amount of time, Emily?”</p><p>God, she loves the way her name rolls off of Lindsey’s tongue. “Like two, three months. I’m not really counting.” That’s a lie. It’s been 2 months 17 days and… Sonnett checks her watch… 23 hours. Roughly.</p><p>“Interesting choice,” Lindsey looks around the bar. “If you’re here to pick up chicks. Or maybe I misread you,” Lindsey says carefully, withdrawing her hand.</p><p>Sonnett catches it. It’s bold, especially for her. Especially with this woman who is so clearly out of her league, but she likes that hand, burning through her jeans and now burning her own hand. “No. Nope. You didn’t misread anything.”</p><p>“Good.” Lindsey glances her thumb over the back of Sonnett’s hand. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>Sonnett laughs nervously. She’s so, so uncomfortable. But as Lindsey finishes her beer, she reminds herself that this is a random bar and a random girl who she never has to see again so she might as well use it as practice since she’s going to have to start dating for real again eventually. “Do you… maybe… want to dance?” she stumbles over the words.  “You know, because I really need to thank you for saving me from that dude.”  Once they’re out, it feels like a huge relief.</p><p>Until she gets a very flat “No,” from Lindsey.</p><p>“Oh. Ok. Yeah,” Sonnett’s face falls. “Of course not.” She glances over in the direction of the pool table. “Yeah. You have a line of guys waiting to play you, it looks like.”</p><p>“Eh,” Lindsey shrugs. “It’s not quite as fun after I destroy the first one. Then they kinda know what’s coming. They still challenge me, like they hold on to their pathetic hope, or machismo, or whatever the hell it is, but deep down, they already know they’re going to lose once they see me play.”</p><p>Oh, good God, she knows she’s good, Sonnett thinks.  That confidence is so fucking sexy.</p><p>“You can buy me another drink though. As a thank you.”</p><p>“So, um… how did you end up here tonight?” Sonnett finally gets up the courage to talk to her again after being shut down, temporarily.</p><p>“Well, I got hired as the high performance coach for Atlanta United..." Lindsey starts.</p><p><em>That explains the neck</em>.</p><p>"...so I broke up with my boyfriend and moved here a couple of months ago. Couldn’t pass up this opportunity.”</p><p>“Boyfriend?” Sonnett chokes, and that was not what she wanted to do because it starts a coughing fit and now Lindsey is patting her on the back and definitely <em>not</em> making it better. Lindsey just laughs, this easy laugh that makes her eyes crinkle again, and that just makes the whole choking spiral even worse.  When she finally regains her ability to breathe like a normal human being, Sonnett looks down at where their fingers are still interlaced and her face burns.</p><p>“Ex-boyfriend,” Lindsey clarifies, using her foot to spin Sonnett’s stool so they’re facing each other again.  “Bisexuals exist, Emily,” Lindsey adds, reading her mind and plunging her deeper into the pit of embarrassment.  “Anyway, everyone keeps telling me I need to get out and be social and make friends and” Lindsey waves her hand in the air, “date,” she says that last word sarcastically, “So.  Here I am. Being social.”</p><p>“And how’s that going?” Sonnett turns more towards her, accidentally bumping her knee. “Sorry.” This time, it’s Sonnett’s turn to reach out and touch Lindsey’s leg where they made contact.</p><p>“Not well.” Lindsey nods towards the pool table. “I keep kicking the asses of all my potential friends.”  Sonnett laughs and Lindsey shrugs. “Eh.  I can always try again next week.”</p><p>“So you really don’t need to get back over there and beat them?” Lindsey shakes her head.  “And you don’t want to dance?” Lindsey shakes her head again.  “And you’re almost done with that beer… do you maybe want to get out of here?” Sonnett surprises herself, asking that, but if she doesn't ask, Mal will never let her live it down.</p><p>“Yeah. Ok.”</p><p>That answer shocks Emily to her core.  “Um… did you drive? Or I can get my Uber to take us somewhere.”</p><p>“Your Uber?” Lindsey gives her an incredulous look.</p><p>“Yeah, my friend. I came here with her. I told her she’s my Uber tonight.”</p><p>“Ahhh.  That’s probably who’s been texting you for the last twenty minutes,” Lindsey eyes Sonnett’s phone, face down on the bar.</p><p>“I didn’t want to be rude while you were talking,” Sonnett says sheepishly, but truthfully, she has been so engrossed in the woman’s touch that she wasn't even aware of it vibrating.</p><p>“She dipped.  A while ago. With that guy who was hitting on you.” There’s a twinkle in Lindsey’s eye that makes Sonnett think she knows.  “I drove,” she says simply, and if she does know, she at least seems unbothered. Then she turns her eyes back to the game on the TV.  “I’m not going to sleep with you. I don’t do that on a first date.” She says it so matter-of-factly that Sonnett almost misses that word.  Almost.</p><p><em>Date</em>. She swallows hard. “Ok.”</p><p>“Might not even spend the night.  Depending.”</p><p>“Depending on what?”</p><p>Lindsey just shrugs and doesn’t answer. “I’ll definitely judge you.”</p><p>“For?”</p><p>“The contents of your pantry. And your fridge. And if you cook breakfast for me in the morning.”</p><p>“You mean, if you stay.”</p><p>“Well yeah. Of course.  That’s a big if," Lindsey agrees, still not looking at her as they talk.</p><p>“Well, can I get your number? In case you don’t?”</p><p>Lindsey chuckles and ignores that, too.  “Let’s get out of here.” Lindsey leads her through the bar with the same swagger she had playing pool.  "Some first date, Emily Sonnett,” she mutters as they walk, hand in hand, to her car.  "Making me drive you home."</p><p>There that word is again. “This wasn’t exactly a date, I mean… right?”</p><p>“You bought me drinks. I only let men buy me drinks when they lose a bet. I only let women buy me drinks if it’s a date.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that was more like a thank you than a date…”</p><p>“Tomato, tomahto.”</p><hr/><p>She’s gone when Sonnett wakes up in the morning.  Of course she’s gone. Sonnett tries to make herself believe that she’s ok with it. That she did a good job practicing picking up a girl at a bar. But really, she’s bummed. She’s even more bummed as she makes her way around her loft, checking to see if Lindsey left her number anywhere – on a scrap of paper, on the mirror in lipstick, on the pad magnetized to the fridge. There’s nothing. That’s the most disappointing part, that she didn’t push for Lindsey's number.  Then again, maybe Lindsey wanted it that way. That might have been understandable – sad but understandable – if it had been a one-night stand. Except it wasn’t; it was a one-night cuddle. A night of talking for hours, holding hands, kissing, laughing. So much laughter. Lindsey giggled at every joke, every story she told.  She never acted like she was bored, not even when she said she was tired.  She just pulled Sonnett into her chest, kissed her forehead, and said, “I’m glad that guy hit on you tonight.” It was softer than a one-night stand. It was so much more. It was Sonnett’s first ever “I could marry this girl she’s so perfect” experience.</p><p>And that’s why Emily can’t get that night – and Lindsey – out of her head over the next week, no matter how much she tries.  She stalks her on the United webpage. She's even hot in her headshot. There's an email address that she's never going to use, and an office phone number.  She dials it, but hangs up when she hears that low, scratchy voice. As she stares at her phone in her hand, she realizes her palms are sweating. She in so, so deep with an almost-stranger and she doesn't know what to do about it. But when Mal invites her over after work on Friday to play video games instead of out to a bar again, she thinks she has it figured out. She declines her friend's invitation and gets a pointy tongue and an annoyed look directed at her, and a “loser,” for good measure, but she only has one thing on her mind as she heads home. A few hours later, she finds herself dressed a little bit nicer and back in that same straight bar on the off-chance that when Lindsey said “next week,” she actually meant that she’d be back playing pool in the same bar next week.</p><p>She doesn’t see her when she enters the crowded space, so she finds an empty seat at the bar and picks at her own beer label more than she drinks from the bottle.  It was a long-shot - she knew that - but that knowledge doesn’t make it any less disappointing. That girl was the most amazing girl she ever met, the kind she wanted to spend the rest of her life talking and laughing and snuggling with.</p><p>And then she hears it – that unmistakable giggle that she heard in her bed when Lindsey asked her what pickup lines she had used on girls in the past and Emily had a whole damn collection to bust out.  She had never actually used any of them, but she was armed with them in case.  She spins around on her barstool, and there she is. Leaning over the pool table, two guys checking her ass out, and a third, looking particularly frustrated as he watches her pocket another ball.  Emily can’t help but smile to herself.</p><p>She wants to get up and go over there.  Talk to her. Challenge her to a game. Except she sucks at pool, so, so bad, so she just watches. She wants to call her out, ask why she was gone in the morning. She wants to ask her to dance again, because seriously, she thinks Lindsey at least owes her that. She wants to buy her a drink and wrack her brain until she can think of something to talk about sitting next to her at the bar. She wants to skip all the confrontation and the pleasantries and just take her home again.</p><p>As Lindsey finishes the poor sucker off, pocketing the 8-ball, she looks up, straight at Emily, and smiles, that same goddamn amazing smile. She could sweep Emily off her feet with just that smile. She already has.</p><p>The guy turns to her, presumably asking what he can get her from the bar, but Lindsey pushes past him and heads straight for Sonnett. “Are you French?” she asks softly, stopping between Sonnett’s legs, and using her favorite pickup line from what Sonnett’s rattled off the other night – Sonnett knows this because it was the one that made Lindsey giggle the most. </p><p>Sonnett shakes her head and takes a sip of her beer, trying to cool down.</p><p>“Are you sure? Because Eiffel for you.”</p><p>Sonnett can’t help but smile at her. “Hi,” she says softly.</p><p>“Hi,” Lindsey smiles back, resting her forearms on Sonnett’s shoulders, and playing with the stray hairs that didn’t make it up into her bun. “You came back. To a straight bar.”</p><p>“So did you.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that’s because it’s full of suckers and I get free drinks. What’s your excuse?”</p><p>Sonnett shrugs nonchalantly, but her casual coolness doesn’t last for long. “You,” she admits.</p><p>“You didn’t call. You could’ve just called.”</p><p>“Asshole!” Sonnett shouts. “You never gave me your number.”</p><p>“I did, too,” Lindsey protests.  “Did you even check your phone?”</p><p>“No. Why would I check my phone?”</p><p>“You’re a heavy sleeper. I used your beautiful face to unlock your phone and saved my number for you.”</p><p>“I feel like I’m supposed to be upset that’s a violation of my privacy.”</p><p>Lindsey shrugs again. “I didn’t go through your phone. I’d rather get to know you the old-fashioned way. You know, when we run into your ex and I get to decide for myself if she’s crazy. Through your friends ratting you out for all your bad habits. Your parents telling me your embarrassing stories. Suggesting we watch porn together and letting you pick so I can figure out your tastes, not me checking your search history," she says like it's nothing. "Or over drinks at a bar. Whatever.”</p><p>Sonnett gets the hint and orders for her.</p><p>“Or in your bed," Lindsey continues when her beer arrives, because she didn't get the rise out of Sonnett that she was aiming for. "I could get to know you in your bed."</p><p>Sonnett gets that hint, too, but she ignores it. She might be head over heels in love with an almost-stranger, but she still feels owed an explanation. “Why’d you leave?” Sonnett asks after a few minutes. “You could have just stayed. I had big plans for breakfast, you know.”</p><p>“And you could have just looked me up at my work," Lindsey throws back at her, but Sonnett just stares, not giving anything away on her face.  Lindsey lets out a dramatic sigh.  "Honestly?” Sonnett nods. “I wanted to see if you’d put in the effort to ask me out for real.”</p><p>“Do you go on a lot of second dates?” Sonnett asks earnestly, and Lindsey shakes her head. “Yeah, because your tactics are ridiculous. You know how many girls you went home with and ‘gave your number to,’ that have absolutely no idea?”</p><p>“One,” Lindsey says simply.</p><p>“One?”</p><p>“Yeah. You. You’re the only person I’ve ever left a bar with and the only person I secretly put my number in the phone of. I told you I don’t go home with people.” Lindsey continues watching the TV, avoiding Sonnett’s eyes.  “How are those breakfast plans looking for tomorrow?”</p><p>“My fridge stays fully stocked. You know, in case a cute girl wants to spend the night.”</p><p>“And your Uber?  Is it here?”</p><p>“I drove tonight.”</p><p>“Upping your game, I see.”</p><p>“Does that mean you’re going to leave all those poor guys hanging and come home with me again?” Sonnett asks hopefully.</p><p>“Do you want me to, Emily?”</p><p><em>I want you to marry me</em>, Sonnett thinks, but all she does is nod.</p><p>“Fine.  But I don’t sleep with people on the second date, either.”</p><p>“Fine,” Sonnett mirrors.  “Just promise you’ll stay for breakfast this time.”</p><p>“I’ll stay for pancakes.”</p><p>“Waffles,” Sonnett counters, but Lindsey chews on her cheek, hesitating.  “I have peanut butter chips,” she adds, trying to tempt Lindsey into agreeing to her favorite food.</p><p>Lindsey pulls her forward causing her to stumble off her stool, and slides her hands around the smaller woman’s waist to steady her.  “Fine,” she tips her chin up and waits expectantly until Sonnett gives in and leans down to place a chaste kiss on her lips.</p><p>“Fine?”</p><p>“Ok, God,” Lindsey whines. “Deal.” Sonnett raises her eyebrows, her turn to wait now. “I’ll stay for peanut butter waffles. Promise.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fallin’ All In You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"You know Valentine's Day is her favorite holiday, right? She does our office all up in red and pink and purple and glitter. Last year, we couldn’t walk anywhere. We had a sea of balloons. She makes it the best day every year. People look forward to it. She said that no one should feel left out because of a stupid manufactured holiday, so she goes overboard for other people, I guess, so no one thinks about being lonely and single on Valentine’s Day."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I cannot believe I forget this song existed because it's one of my all-time favorites and I listened to it all day. I also can't believe I haven't used it already, but I'm glad I didn't, and I'm glad it came back at the right time. It's still Valentine's Day somewhere, so Happy V-Day, not to be confused with V-E Day or V-J Day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sunrise with you on my chest,<br/>No blinds in the place where I live,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Daybreak open your eyes</em>
  <br/>
  <em>’Cause this was only ever meant to be</em>
  <br/>
  <em>for one night.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Still, we’re changing our minds here,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Be yours, be my dear.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Is this one one of yours? I found her wandering around the stadium?” Ryan asks, not bothering to knock on Lindsey’s open door as he enters her office. He has Emily in tow like a stray dog and he’s looking for her owner. When Lindsey looks up and sees her, she can’t hide the smile, or the affection she feels for her.</p><p>“One of yours? <em> One </em> of yours?” Emily screeches, before Lindsey has a chance to answer. “What is that supposed to mean ‘one of yours?’” she continues, more mumbling and pouty this time as she looks back and forth between the two trainers.</p><p>“Hi, baby,” Lindsey ignores her. “What are you doing here and why were you lost?”  She gets up and comes around her desk, perching on the edge, waiting for Emily to calm down enough to move closer to her. When she does, Lindsey reaches out and takes her hands, intertwining their fingers.</p><p>“I’m lost because this place is huge and I can never remember if it’s the second or third stairwell to the left and then I get turned around. And maybe I’m here because I missed you.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Lindsey pulls her closer, leaving a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. </p><p>“You taste like coffee,” Emily murmurs against her, and Lindsey can feel the way her slight lips begin to tighten into a smile.</p><p>She pulls back and lets out a singular, soft chuckle. She likes this Emily, the one who says what’s on her mind without stopping to think. The one who amuses herself as much as she amuses Lindsey. Who shows up at her work without so much as a text, because she probably was in the middle of driving home when she thought about missing her and, spur of the moment, decided to detour. This Emily makes her feel like if she falls, she’ll be safe. “Why’d you really come all the way over here?” she asks, mainly because she wants to hear Emily say it again, that she misses her even though they saw each other two days ago.</p><p>“It’s not <em> all </em> the way over here. It’s like 10 minutes. Three miles. I can literally jog here. No big deal. Stop smiling like that.”</p><p>“Mmhmm.”</p><p>“I have a question that I need to ask you.”</p><p>“Oh?” Lindsey quirks an eyebrow up as Emily nods enthusiastically. She almost says yes without even hearing the question because with this woman, sometimes, the question seems like the least important part. She hasn’t told her yet, but she fears she’s in a little deeper than she expected to be and that she might say yes to pretty much anything at this point. It’s not like her, like the controlled, methodical approach to everything she’s always used: never too high, never too low. That doesn’t work very well with Emily.</p><p>It should scare her, how quickly, for her at least, she’s falling. It would if it were anyone else. This thing was supposed to be one night. Not a one-night stand - she meant it when she said she doesn’t do that - but one night of going home with someone and laughing and talking and pretending she was something other than lonely. Just a few hours of feeling wanted by someone who seemed so safe in that bar that night. Someone she could make out with for a little while, who could remind her of all the things she'd forgotten. She didn’t intend to give out her number like that, but she wasn’t going to stay, that was never part of the plan even though she joked about it. And when it came time to quietly slide her shoes back on and slip out in the middle of the night, she found herself staring at the woman sleeping peacefully on the bed, lips slightly parted, and wondering why it was that she didn’t want to leave. So she decided to drop another crumb, and if they were meant to see each other again, if Emily thought she was worth going to a little trouble for, it would work itself out. It didn’t occur to her until after she left that if Emily was going to wait for her to put in the effort to ask her out again, there wouldn’t be a second date. She didn’t have a phone number, a place of employment, a hint about what the woman did in her free time. She was screwed. Until she wasn’t, when she saw a blonde bun over the crowd at the bar only a week later and knew it was <em>her</em>.</p><p>“Did you lose your phone?” Lindsey teases.</p><p>“What? No.” Emily checks her back pocket. “No, it’s right here. Why?”</p><p>“Oh I was just wondering why you couldn’t ask it by text? Or call me? Or just ask me this weekend when you’re going to see me anyway?”</p><p>“Uh-uh,” Emily shakes her head emphatically. “This is an in-person question.”</p><p>“Because…” Lindsey waits in the silence for Emily to fill it. </p><p>“I um, I was wondering if I can take you on a date next Sunday?”</p><p>She wracks her brain. Next Sunday. What’s so important about next Sunday that she <em> had </em>to ask in person? It’s not quite what would be their three-month anniversary, if anyone were counting. No one is, especially not Lindsey. She continues eying Emily, trying to figure out what it is that is so important that she had to come to Lindsey’s place of employment. Not that she minds. She likes seeing her, anywhere, especially here. But… it’s suspicious. “Oh my god,” she shouts, the day finally clicking. “No.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“No,” Lindsey says emphatically. “We are not going out on Valentine’s Day.”</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“No! Not even if you pout.” Emily doesn’t know how that pout makes Lindsey’s heart flutter. She plans on keeping that secret for at least a little while longer.</p><p>“Well, I- I mean I- I- um… I didn’t necessarily mean out,” Emily stutters, “What if we stay in? I was going to make dinner for you. At my place. Not <em> out </em>out. Like, not a restaurant. Just a date. At home.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No?” Emily’s face falls. “Do you have plans already?”</p><p>Lindsey softens at the concern in her girlfriend’s eyes. “No, baby. I don’t have plans. You’re the only person I make plans with.” And in case Emily needs extra reassurance, she pulls the smaller woman between her legs and nuzzles into her neck.</p><p>“So what you’re saying is, I’m not ‘one of yours,’ I am yours? Like the only one?”</p><p>“Hush, you know that,” Lindsey shoves her a little, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t have plans, but I’m not coming over to your place for Valentine’s Day. I don’t <em> do </em>Valentine’s Day. And obviously, you do. You’ll probably have heart-shaped balloons and rose petals on the bed and a bouquet of flowers and a box chocolate on your kitchen table and-”</p><p>“And what’s wrong with that?”</p><p>“What’s wrong with that is Valentine’s is a commercialized bullshit holiday, and I’m not feeding into it.”</p><p>“That’s not true. It’s a real holiday. It has to do with St. Valentine who-”</p><p>Lindsey cuts her off. “No, it’s the Christian replacement for Lupercalia,” she counters, explaining the pagan fertility celebration. In detail. To knock this romantic notion back a peg or two.</p><p>“Ok, that’s kinda gross,” Emily admits.</p><p>“See? There will be no stupid Valentine’s Day decorations unless you want me to slap you with some bloody goat hide.”</p><p>“Seriously stop.” Lindsey snorts out a laugh. “I knew this was a bad idea,” Emily mumbles.</p><p>“Hey,” Lindsey takes her hand again, “come make dinner for me at my place.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>There’s that sparkle in Emily’s eyes again, the one that when Lindsey sees it, she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Yeah. That way I can control the amount of pink. And you can spend the night. But I’m not sleeping with you. That would be too cliché.”</p><p>“Ok,” Emily shrugs, unbothered.</p><p>It’s just one more thing Lindsey appreciates about her - more than Emily probably knows - she’s never tried to push her. Lindsey’s been hurt so many times. People who told her they loved her and used her. People who had no problem tossing her aside for someone new. People who didn’t love her enough to support her career. So she has to protect her heart, and this is just one way she feels she has control, one way to keep herself safe. Ish. It’s decidedly less effective against a disarming smile and soft eyes, jokes aplenty, and compliments from the heart. But she’s been holding on strong, and holding out, wondering when this unintentional test she puts the older woman through every time she sees her will fail, and who will be the ultimate cause of that failure. “Ok. I just wanted to make sure you know that it being Valentine’s Day doesn’t mean you’re automatically going to get lucky. It’s like any other day, any other date.”</p><p>“Except you hardly let me come to your place. And you’ve never let me cook for you,” Emily points out.</p><p>Both are true. Cooking seems so time consuming to Lindsey. And then you have to clean up. Takeout and dining out are much more her style. But her girlfriend looked so disappointed a minute ago when she turned down the date invitation that she caved. </p><p>“But for the record,” Emily continues with a huge grin, “I feel lucky every day.”</p><p>See? What’s she supposed to do with that? How’s she supposed to stop herself from falling? And does she even want to anymore?</p><hr/><p>“What are y’all doing for Valentine’s Day?” Dansby asks Lindsey as he leans across the table to grab some of the peanuts that Emily’s hoarding. She snatches the bowl away at the last second, and turns it into a game of tossing them for Dansby to catch in his mouth.</p><p>“Nothing,” Lindsey replies, taking a long sip from here beer, nervous about why he’s asking. She doesn’t want him to try to turn it into a thing either, because a double-date on Valentine’s Day is still a date on Valentine’s Day.</p><p>“Really?” Mal looks surprised.</p><p>“We’re not doing nothing,” Emily cuts in, “just a quiet, romantic,” she wiggles her eyebrows in Lindsey’s direction, “dinner at home.”</p><p>“Hmmpf,” Mal raises an eyebrow. She looks like she’s about to say something else, but Dansby interrupts her.</p><p>“Wanna dance, babe?”</p><p>“No, I already told you my feet hurt,” she says with a look that makes her annoyance at his question obvious, and Emily laugh at her expression.</p><p>“Come on, Dansby, I’ll dance with you,” she pushes herself out of the booth, and grabs his hand, dragging him behind her onto the dance floor.</p><p>Mal’s quiet for a few minutes as she watches them, but then she turns back to Lindsey. “You know Valentine’s is like her favorite holiday, right?”</p><p>Lindsey <em> didn’t </em>know that. “Why?”</p><p>“Dunno. It just is. Every February, she does our office all up in red and pink and purple and glitter. And then on Valentine’s Day, she always has something special planned. Last year, we couldn’t walk anywhere, couldn’t get to our desks, anything. There were balloons everywhere. A sea of balloons. They were in the bathroom stalls, even. For like half the day, we’d hear a loud pop and someone would scream, but it was inevitable, all those women in heels, if we wanted to be able to do our jobs.”</p><p>“That seems like it’d be annoying.”</p><p>“It does, doesn’t it?” Mal nods slowly, like she agrees. “But it’s not with her. She makes it fun. Everyone had the best day. The year before that, she tied probably 200 balloons together to spell out LOVE in giant letters, but I don’t think she realized it was going to take up our whole lobby. The year before that, she hand painted wooden hearts to look like giant conversation hearts and lined the road in. We do a Valentine’s exchange like in elementary school because of her. There’s cookie decorating. She makes it like the best day every year. People look forward to it. And she gets it, that you should show your love every day, you know? She’s not like a one day out of 365 type of person, but she goes overboard on Valentine’s day. She makes everyone a handmade card with one of her corny pick up lines or a poem or she draws something. She makes sure all the single women in the office have flowers delivered to them. She makes Halloween special, we have a costume contest now that she judges. And she hides little rainbow erasers and chocolate-covered coins all over the damn place for St. Patty’s Day. I bit into one in my sandwich at lunch one year. But well, anyway... one time she said that everyone deserves to feel extra special and extra loved, and no one should feel left out because of a stupid manufactured holiday on the calendar, so she goes overboard for other people, I guess, so no one thinks about being lonely and single on Valentine’s Day. She doesn’t want anyone to feel less than just because they aren’t partnered.”</p><p><em> A stupid, manufactured holiday </em>. So she gets it, but she just doesn’t care, because she cares more about how the holiday might make people feel than about the twenty-something billion dollars people will spend on junk and extravagant dates and unnecessary jewelry.  Lindsey turns, eyes seeking out the blonde bun that has become so familiar to her in such a short time. She’s incredible, there’s no other way to describe her. From across the room, Emily makes Lindsey feel as free as she looks, laughing and two-stepping with Dansby. There’s got to be something wrong with her, some fault, some flaw, but Lindsey can’t think of what it might be. Or maybe she’s already witnessed it and it just didn’t matter much to her because she was already in love. That's probably more likely considering that ever since Lindsey started spending time around Emily, she has trouble seeing even her own flaws anymore when she looks in the mirror. </p><p>“It’s just who she is, you know? She’s quirky. I mean, you see it.  She dances in our office at least once a week, usually on someone’s desk.” Lindsey laughs softly, picturing her girlfriend in a pantsuit, probably barefoot on someone's desk. “She used to dance at the most serious times in our pre-game or halftime talks until our coach limited her to only post-game huddles. She dances in grocery store aisles, so FYI, if that’s going to embarrass you, consider this your warning. She’s dancing with my boyfriend. She’d dance with you if you’d let her. She doesn’t know how to be any other way besides herself. I suspect that’s why you’re falling in love with her.”</p><p>“I’m not…”</p><p>Mal snorts. “Yeah, whatever. You couldn’t help it if you tried. Everyone falls for her. Dansby would fall in love with her if she weren’t gay. Seriously,” Mal’s eyes widen as she downs another shot that burns the back of her throat, “I’m convinced he would leave me for her.”</p><p>“Everyone?” Lindsey muses, wondering if she should be feeling a tinge of jealousy, and why she isn’t - hasn’t - yet. She should have by now, come to think of it. She always does.</p><p>“Everyone. You can’t not fall in love with Sonny.”</p><p>“You?”</p><p>“We’re talking about you. The way you want to dance with her even though you told her you hate dancing.”</p><p>“I don’t want to dan-” But she does. She would gladly dance with this woman now if she’d ask again. She hasn’t asked in a while, maybe a month or so. Lindsey kept saying no, so eventually, she stopped to avoid being annoying. “How do you-”</p><p>“You text me more than my own boyfriend does. You know you can tell her.”</p><p>And Lindsey does know that, deep down. Because she’s met Emily’s family, and Emily’s friends have become her friends, and because she spends as much time at Emily’s as she does at her own place and it doesn’t faze her. It doesn’t faze either of them.</p><p>She knows because she’s brought Emily up to her work and shared stories of her adorable smile and hilarious Sonny-isms on her Instagram, enough that her coworkers know Emily’s face. Emily is at every United home game to watch Lindsey sit on the bench, too, and she waits for her after, even though Lindsey is one of the last people out of the stadium. She used to be so private, never would have dreamed of letting a woman - or a man - she was dating hang out in her office after a match so they could go home together. Now she doesn’t care. She hates dancing, but she’d dance with this woman if she’d ask again. Maybe she should just get off her ass and do the asking herself. She’s allowed to change her mind. It’s either that, or Emily brings out a different side of her. Doesn’t much matter which. What matters right now is that she wants her arms around her woman.</p><p>“Hey, where are you going?” Mal calls after her.</p><p>“May I cut in?” she taps Dansby on the shoulder, thankful that the music slowed as she began her ill-advised jaunt across the dance floor. “Don’t smile like that,” she warns Emily.</p><p>“Like what?” Emily asks innocently</p><p>“That. I can’t dance.”</p><p>“Can’t or won’t?”</p><p>“Don’t know how. Never learned.”</p><p>“Useless Colorado upbringing,” Emily teases her, the same way she did when she brought Lindsey to her parents’ Christmas dinner under the guise of “Don’t get any ideas that this means we’re serious now. You don’t have anywhere to go for the holidays. You’re like a stray. I have no choice.” And when they walked into her childhood home, Lindsey’s arm tucked around her elbow, Emily’s introduction of her was no better.  “Mom, Dad. This is my girlfriend, Lindsey. She’s not from here, if you know what I mean,” she had said, holding her hand up to her mouth like she was trying to keep the last part a secret from Lindsey, but she said it in her normal, loud voice. Lindsey was mortified; her manners are perfect. Everyone had a good laugh, and Lindsey was left with no choice but to roll her eyes and pinch Emily’s side. </p><p>Emily starts to arrange them in a traditional hold, but then thinks better of it, giving up and looping both arms around Lindsey’s neck. Lindsey’s hands fall lightly to her hips. “Hug and sway, Linds, hug and sway,” she whispers, reaching down to wrap Lindsey’s arms around her waist, and then resting her cheek against Lindsey’s.</p><p>“What if we do this dinner on Saturday instead?” Lindsey asks as the song ends. She watches Emily’s face fall but sticks to her guns. “You have work early Monday. I have to be in by 10,” she explains. “It just makes more sense for you to come over Saturday night and then we can take it easy Sunday morning. Coffee on my balcony. Or those stupid cartoons you watch. A late brunch?”</p><p>“Yeah. Ok,” Emily replies, but Lindsey can hear the difference in her voice.</p><p>“Is it ok?”</p><p>“Yeah, Linds. It’s just like any other day, right?” She pulls the shorter blonde tightly into her chest, wishing she could tell her that she promises this little change of plans will be so, so worth it.  “It’s fine,” Emily acquiesces, sounding a little bit more herself after a few moments, “but you’re two-stepping with me before we leave.”</p><hr/><p>“Hap- iii… hi, baby,” Emily stops herself from mentioning the holiday when Lindsey opens her door. Besides, it’s <em> technically </em> not Valentine’s Day, so she <em> technically </em> shouldn’t be saying it anyway. No <em> look at us spending our first Valentine’s Day together </em> . No cutesy <em> Be my Valentine </em>. Just a low-key, nice, home-cooked meal and a bottle of wine to go with.</p><p>And a bunch of bags.</p><p>“Are you staying for like a week, or?” Lindsey jokes, eying Emily’s arms laden with bags, but not helping her.</p><p>Emily rolls her eyes.  “You’re random-day-in-winter gift,” she shoves a box wrapped in some gold paper she had leftover from Christmas into Lindsey’s hands. “Ingredients and cooking supplies,” she sets down a bunch of paper bags. “And my overnight bag,” she lets the duffle slide off her shoulder.</p><p>“I’ll put your bag up,” Lidnsey offers, wanting to keep Emily out of her bedroom until the end of the night. “Make yourself at home.” By the time she returns, Emily already has her counters covered with the items she brought.</p><p>“I um, I know you said this is a manufactured holiday, and I get that, but I had these heart-shaped cake pans already, so I figured I could just use them? And I brought a red velvet cake mix, but hear me out. Red is your favorite color, this holiday aside. And it’s not like I’m going to put pink icing on it. Just a basic cream cheese. No candy hearts. No sprinkles. No decorations at all.”</p><p>“Fine,” Lindsey kisses her, realizing that in her nervousness, she didn’t give her girlfriend a proper greeting when she arrived. She’s been a bundle of nerves since she talked with Mal in the bar last weekend, wanting today - and tomorrow, especially - to be perfect. “Missed you,” she mumbles, not breaking their lips apart. The kiss quickly ends up with Emily pressed against the island, Lindsey’s tongue exploring her mouth and her ear and her neck and, well, minds were meant to be changed right? Because all of the anticipation of planning this weekend, and not seeing Emily for the past couple of days is making it hard for Lindsey to keep her hands to herself.</p><p>Watching Emily in her kitchen does little to temper what she’s feeling in her head or her heart or between her legs. It’s the confidence of not measuring a damn thing, the way she whistles along to the music Lindsey has playing in the background, her refusal to let Lindsey help, which is nice, but also smart, the sexiness with which she shimmies in front of the stove sometimes, and her sweetness on full display when she pauses what she’s doing to wander over to Lindsey for a peck and nothing more. It’s the care she takes with everything, except for cleaning as she goes, and the pride that Lindsey can feel bursting from Emily’s chest from the other side of her kitchen. She’s in her element here, so much more confident than the night Lindsey met her in the bar. And she has the right to be supremely confident; it’s one of the best meals Lindsey’s has ever eaten, and far and away the best that’s ever been prepared in her kitchen. To think that she almost said no to this… well, it’s a good thing those sad grey eyes wouldn’t allow her to.</p><p> *****</p><p>“Linds…” Emily’s voice is barely above a whisper as she steps into Lindsey’s bedroom. It’s lit in a warm glow from several candles on her nightstands and dresser. There’s a single red rose in the center of her perfectly made bed. It’s lying atop a folded piece of pink construction paper, and even from a distance, Emily can make out a heart-shaped doily glued to it. Both the card and the rose stand out against her white comforter.</p><p>Lindsey wraps her arms around Emily’s waist, gently rocking with her. “Happy Valentine’s, baby.”</p><p>“But you said…”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“I didn’t… I wanted to, but I thought you’d think it was shitty if I just ignored what you said the other day.”</p><p>“I know,” Lindsey breathes into her ear, and then grabs Emily’s earlobe lightly between her teeth.</p><p>“But…” Emily starts to protest.</p><p>“Baby,” Lindsey releases her ear, but not her body. “You made me dinner. And dessert. You being here makes tonight special. I didn’t need anything else. I don’t want anything else. And when I said all that the other day, I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”</p><p>“Mal,” Emily huffs. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No,” Lindsey squeezes her tighter. “I'm sorry. You have friends who know you. And love you. I want to, too.” She cranes her neck around and kisses Emily on the cheek.</p><p><em> Know me or love me </em>? Emily wonders. Instead, she makes a joke about a tutu, because that’s easier.</p><p>“Um,” in Lindsey’s hesitation, Emily turns and looks at her. Her face is bright red, and Emily thinks it’s one of the only times she’s seen the taller woman uncomfortable, shy almost. “Do you think maybe you could look at your Valentine’s card some other time?”</p><p>“Some other time like when?” Emily’s eyes narrow.</p><p>“Like when I’m not around?” Lindsey suggests unhelpfully, wishing she had just held off on the whole card thing. But the aesthetic was too good to pass up, once she got a little more behind the idea of doing<em> something </em>for Valentine’s Day. “Please?”</p><p>Emily leans over the bed, picking up both the flower and the card. “Certainly, Miss Horan,” she smiles, burying her nose amongst the petals to breathe in the rich honey scent. She doesn’t even steal a glimpse of the card, setting both on the dresser beside a trio of candles. “What’d you have in mind instead of me reading the beautiful love poem I’m sure you wrote me,” she saunters back over towards Lindsey.</p><p>Lindsey didn’t have anything in mind when she planned all this, to be honest, and not when she made the request for Emily to hold off just now. She started second-guessing herself and her decision to write a cheesy Cryptogram because what she really wants to do is blurt out the words, “I love you,” right now. And the best way to stop that from happening is to get her lips on her girlfriend’s.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Emily says between kisses as Lindsey’s hands climb up her shirt.</p><p>“Changing my mind?” she says hesitantly, lowering Emily onto her bed. “Is that ok?”</p><p>“It’s always ok, no matter what,” Emily looks up at her with what Lindsey knows in her heart is love. There’s no other way to describe it. No one’s ever looked at her like this, she is certain. Like Emily thinks she’s the only person in the world that matters. Like she could look at her forever.</p><p>“I just- I want you, Em. I don’t wanna wait anymore.” Lindsey’s voice trembles, not because she’s unsure, but because she’s so sure.</p><p>Emily flips them with a confidence Lindsey never could have expected she’d have in bed, and kisses her with a slow passion that she’s obviously been reserving for maybe this exact occasion. It takes Lindsey’s breath away unlike any first kiss, even theirs, ever has. The first time she kissed Emily, in her car before they made their way up to Emily’s condo, she thought Emily was going to pass out on her, the way her face flushed a deep crimson and her pulse raced. Lindsey felt it, her hand loosely around Emily's wrist then. Tonight, time stops and the room quiets and it’s them and nothing else. No fear, no apprehension, just deep love that they both feel running through their veins without ever having spoken it. Steady heartbeats, but fluttery stomachs. Metered breaths, but fingertips moving over arms and shoulders and backs in an almost hypnotic pattern. Emily’s warm breath on her neck warms her throughout. The way Emily’s fingers sink into her biceps feels safe. Protective.</p><p>She gets lost in how gentle and easy Emily is with her. She thought she had been in love before, but Emily’s touch makes her question everything she thought she knew about her past. She didn’t realize she could fall more in love with her - maybe because she’s been trying to deny it, even to herself - but there’s no coming back from the way Emily takes her time. Appreciates every inch of her from her fingertips to her toes, her hairline, her eyelashes. It’s like they have all night - and they do - but no one has ever made her believe they could spend all night learning her body and not tire of it.</p><p>Emily makes her feel wanted without hurrying anything. Makes her wet without making her desperate. Makes her wait without feeling like she’s having to. She seeks permission before tasting her, before touching her, asks her what she needs, checks with her afterwards to make sure she’s ok even though Lindsey thinks, in her-blissed out state, it has to be obvious that she’s more than ok.</p><p>And all Lindsey wants is to be just as good for her.</p><hr/><p>Sunlight streaming in through Lindsey’s windows awakens her. Emily is snuggled against her, sleeping peacefully. She can still feel Emily inside her. Still taste her on her lips.  Lindsey gently runs her fingers through the mess of blonde hair falling across her bare chest, and Emily stirs, first burying her face against Lindsey and breathing warm puffs of air against her skin and then humming as she stretches out her limbs, or at least the ones that are free of Lindsey. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says softly as Emily looks up at her, eyes trying to adjust to the sun.</p><p>“You said no Valentine’s Day sex,” Emily replies sleepily.</p><p>“Well-” Lindsey starts, but she’s immediately interrupted.</p><p>“You called it cliché.”</p><p>“Listen…”</p><p>“Call it cliché now. I dare you.” Emily noses along Lindsey's jaw and then presses the tip of her nose into the younger woman's. She’s close enough that Lindsey can smell the remnants of sex still on her face.</p><p>“We did not have sex on Valentine’s Day!” Lindsey huffs and it gives Emily pause.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah. You’re right, I guess. But yesterday was basically <em> our </em>Valentine’s Day. We had a lovely dinner prepared by yours truly. You made me a card with a damn heart on the front that you won’t even let me read but it looks suspiciously like a Valentine’s card. It was our first Valentine’s Day together. Basically.”</p><p>“Whatever,” Lindsey grumbles. “We didn’t have sex on Valentine’s Day.”</p><p>“Well let me change that for us.” Emily swings her leg over Lindsey, pulling herself across the larger woman’s body so she can see her. Kiss her. Touch her cheek and run her fingers along Lindsey’s ribs. “You got me a flower.  A <em> rose </em> . A <em> red </em>one,” Emily reminds her.</p><p>“Shut up, Em.”</p><p>“You <em> made </em>me a card. You used pink paper,” she drags her teeth along Lindsey’s collarbone.</p><p>“Emily if you don’t-”</p><p>“Just admit that you don’t hate this holiday. In fact, I think you kinda like it,” she smirks, her mouth dangerously close to Lindsey’s nipple.</p><p>“It’s growing on me. A little,” Lindsey chokes out as Emily’s hand travels farther south. “Baby, we have plans,” she whines, unable to keep still under Emily’s weight as her fingers explore her folds.</p><p>“Oh,” Emily sits up. “Do you need me to be fast? Do these plans involve a reservation?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Any specific schedule at all?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh good.” This time, Emily’s lips close around her tight nipple. “I’ll take my time then.”</p><p>“Fuuuccckk,” Lindsey moans, completely helpless.</p><p> </p><p>“Now then,” Emily pops her head back up with a smirk and kisses the soft skin of Lindsey’s inner thigh. Her hands are still being squeezed in Lindsey’s larger ones, the flesh of her fingers starting to turn white, but she couldn’t care less.  “Tell me again how having sex on Valentine’s Day is cliché.”</p><p>Lindsey releases her death grip on Emily’s hands so she can unloop her arms from under her thighs, and then pulls Emily up on her chest. “You never shut the fuck up do you?” she asks. “Not unless I’m kissing you.” </p><p>“Or my tongue is preoccupied in other areas,” Emily adds with a wink. “Would you like me to be preoccupied again?”</p><p>“I have never met someone who talks in bed as much as you do,” she shakes her head. “Is it because you were nervous?” She acts exasperated with her girlfriend, but the truth is, Emily talking so much, joking, keeping things light, has brought a level of comfort to her bedroom that made their first, and second, time so much more enjoyable because she could relax. The reality is, she was the one so nervous last night she was trembling as Emily pressed her legs apart.</p><p>And based on the way Emily snorts at that suggestion, she was more than aware. “Did I seem nervous? Maybe I need more practice if you think I’m nervous.”</p><p>Lindsey rolls her eyes, refusing to address the statement because she’s either going to end up with Emily inside her again or she’s going to be the reason Emily’s head blows up. “Give me a second, will you?”</p><p>She’s been keeping this woman at an arm’s length for months, so afraid of what would happen if she allowed her in. Pushing her to see what she would do, like not dancing with her, not celebrating this dumb holiday that looks like hearts threw up everywhere, not sleeping with her.  And every time, Emily managed to get closer in spite of it all. In her past relationships, she pulled away. Her friends told her she was scared of commitment, but that wasn’t it at all. She was scared of commitment with people she knew weren’t it. Weren’t <em> the one</em>, and she doesn’t care how cliché that sounds. Lindsey pulled back a little bit. Defense mode. Like when her ex said that celebrating Valentine’s Day was stupid. Or when he told her moving to Atlanta for a job was stupid. </p><p>But this woman? This woman’s been perfect, and Lindsey hasn’t even let her be herself, not fully. She’s going to start now. She already has, letting Emily’s infectious zest for life overwhelm her every sense last night. And again this morning. The whole time they’ve been together, honestly. It’s why Emily’s Valentine’s Day is just getting started. </p><p>With that, she disappears into the bathroom, Emily staring at her naked backside as she closes the door behind her.  She flops down on the bed when she hears the water turn on. After last night, she didn’t expect their morning of fun to end this early. But a few minutes later, Lindsey's back. “It’s ready,” she calls from the doorway. She has a robe on now, preventing Emily from getting a good look at her front, much to her disappointment</p><p>“What’s ready?”</p><p>But instead of answering, Lindsey simply walks towards the bed, reaching out her hand. Emily takes it, but scrunches up her nose when she realizes it’s wet. “Your bath. Our bath,” Lindsey wraps her arms around Emily’s midsection, guiding her into the warm bathroom. </p><p>“Wait you have curtains in here, but nothing in your bedroom?” Emily asks, appreciating how dimly lit the space is, and the flickering candles just like last night in the bedroom.</p><p>“I don’t want anyone to see me naked.”</p><p>“But you want to be woken up at the ass-crack of dawn just for the fuck of it?”</p><p>“Whatever. Love Me Do, Peachy, Sex Bomb, or Heartbeat?” Lindsey asks, hands full of Lush bath bombs. </p><p>Emily smirks, “Well, feels like Sex Bomb is the right answer, but lemme smell them all.”</p><p>“I dunno, Peachy is pretty fitting,” Lindsey gives them over and glides her hands along Emily’s bare backside. </p><p>“Next time,” Emily winks, dropping her choice, the jasmine-scented Sex Bomb into the tub. “I don’t think we needed rose petals <em> and </em>a bath bomb.</p><p>“Oh we definitely did,” Lindsey assures her, dropping her robe and sinking into the warm water. “This is our first Valentine’s together, baby. We need it all,” she whispers, closing her eyes as Emily leans back against her.</p><p>*****</p><p>“Oh my God!” Emily shouts when she sees Lindsey’s living room filled with balloons. “How did you…” she turns back to Lindsey, tears in her eyes, and it makes all of the effort for this stupid holiday worth it to Lindsey, to see how genuinely surprised and happy her girlfriend is.</p><p>“Like I said, you have really good friends. Friends who I trusted enough to give my spare key to. And I’m lucky Dansby has a huge SUV.” But Emily’s not listening to her anymore, running around, kicking the balloons, popping them with her butt, using the static generated by her hair to stick them to walls, making Lindsey’s hair staticky so it’ll stand on end and she can take pictures of it. She’s like a kid… on Valentine’s Day, and her joy is the sweetest, most pure thing Lindsey has ever witnessed. And that’s before she starts in on the helium-filled balloons, floating along Lindsey’s ceiling. She doesn’t notice the one special balloon amongst the regular ones, instead focusing on using the helium to make Lindsey laugh, telling funny Valentine’s jokes in a high-pitched voice.</p><p>“What do you write in a slug’s Valentine’s card?”</p><p>“I don’t know. What?” Lindsey plays along, sitting on the arm of her sofa.</p><p>“Happy Valen-slimes!”</p><p>Lindsey lets out a soft giggle.</p><p>Emily sucks in some more helium. “What do you call a Valentine’s gift that didn’t arrive in time?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Choco-late. Get it? Late?”</p><p>“Yes, I get it,” Lindsey rolls her eyes, trying hard not to break out in a full-on laugh because she knows this will never end once she starts giving Emily what she wants - attention.</p><p>“What did one volcano say to the other volcano?”</p><p>“Dunno, Em.”</p><p>“Come on you gotta guess.”</p><p>“Something with lava in it, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Yes!” Emily shouts. “I lava you!” </p><p>Lindsey turns bright red. She knows Emily doesn’t mean it like that, it’s just a stupid joke, but still.</p><p>Emily’s not done though. “How do you know when a squirrel is in love?” </p><p>Lindsey throws her hands up. “I give up.”</p><p>“You didn’t guess, Linds. Whatever. It goes nuts!” Emily starts laughing at her own joke. Again. But Lindsey pulls her towards her, causing her to release her next balloon and stopping the game.</p><p>“Is that what’s going on with you right now?” she asks, suddenly serious. Emily just blinks at her, with this expression that Lindsey’s unable to read. She reaches up behind Emily, amongst the mess of ribbon hanging down from her ceiling and grabs the one purple string from the middle, pulling it towards them. When it gets to eye level, she hands it to Emily. This wasn’t exactly how she planned to tell her, it’s in the card, and this balloon was supposed to say "Bee Mine," but Mal had texted her saying they were out of the bumble bee balloons.</p><p>No matter, now feels right.</p><p>“I love you,” Emily murmurs, reading the bubble letters on the foil-y heart-shaped balloon. She looks up at Lindsey, eyes wet with tears all over again. But there’s this look on her face, like she’s not sure, not sure if Lindsey means it or if it’s just a random balloon Mal and Dansby picked up at the store. “Do you-”</p><p>Lindsey nods, biting her lip, this time to keep from getting all weepy like Emily’s about to. “Yeah,” she croaks out. “I do love you. A lot.”</p><p>“You know how cheesy this is, right?” Emily sniffles, wiping her eyes. “We’re gonna have to tell the story of who said I love you first and how, and I’m gonna have to tell everyone that you said it first. On Valentine’s Day. With a balloon.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Lindsey hooks her fingers behind Emily’s head and pulls her into a deep kiss.</p><p>“I mean, people are gonna want to know,” Emily breaks away with a grin, but Lindsey pulls her back, twisting her tongue around Emily’s to quiet her. It doesn’t last for long. “Our kids, especially. It’s not like I can lie to them.”</p><p>Lindsey feels a fluttering in her chest in that moment that she hopes never subsides. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” she stares Emily down coolly, but inside she’s melting in a way she never has before, because she could marry this woman and she would have her babies. And it’s so ridiculous that she knows this already but she doesn’t even care. She doesn't know if Emily's changing her or if this was the real her all along and she was too cynical, too scared, to let herself out. But being with Emily 's not like them. She's teaching Lindsey that she can always change, herself or her mind, and it's still ok. She can let herself be vulnerable, and it's ok. She can <em>love</em>, with everything she has, and it's more than ok. Emily's. Not. Them. “Say it back.”</p><p>In this, Emily doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t matter if love at first sight doesn't really exist. She fell in love with a woman from across a crowded bar, and no one can tell her otherwise. “I am in love with you, Lindsey Horan.” And in that moment, Lindsey is certain that Emily won't be the person who just says it; she'll show her everyday.</p><p>*****</p><p>“Come on, Em, can you just finish the puzzle later,” Lindsey whines. They did coffee, because Emily made it, and brunch at home - she even let Emily use her heart-shaped cookie cutters to make pancakes, and the chocolate syrup to write messages on them like conversation hearts. She gave Emily permission to look at her card - finally - while she cleaned up the disaster zone of her kitchen from Emily cooking two meals in it. And now, she just wants to curl up under a blanket and do nothing. </p><p>“No. Once I start something, I have to finish it.”</p><p>“Yeah, but this is kinda… very… slow-going,” Lindsey complains. “You said you were good at puzzles.”</p><p>“I said I <em> like </em>puzzles. I never said I was good. There’s a difference.” Lindsey’s about to argue that in her world there is no difference, you like the things you’re good at, but Emily keeps going. “And I was referring to puzzle puzzles, and number puzzles. Word puzzles are harder for me.”</p><p>“Can I give you a hint?”</p><p>“No that, would ruin it,” Emily grabs her card, turning away to try to keep Lindsey from seeing it. She hasn't exactly made a lot of progress on it, but she's determined to finish.</p><p>“But this two-letter word here is-”</p><p>“Linds,” Emily warns. “That’s cheating. Just open your present and shush. I’m trying to work.”</p><p>Lindsey grumbles, plopping down in the chair next to Emily. Without looking up, Emily pushes the package towards her. She doesn’t look away from her puzzle until she sees Lindsey toss the paper on the floor out of the corner of her eyes. “Kith x Adidas x Lego shoes?  Are you kidding me?” Lindsey squeals. </p><p>“It’s not romantic. You seemed to be anti-romance, but uh,” she gestures around Lindsey’s condo, “well that’s the last time I’m listening to you.”</p><p>“Baby, I love them!” Lindsey wraps her arms around Emily’s neck, and kisses on her until Emily’s laughing so much her belly hurts and she has to beg Lindsey to stop. </p><p>“Well I was gonna get you the Yeezys, but you know, we weren’t that serious yet when I was picking out your gift.”</p><p>“Oh but are we now?”</p><p>Emily shrugs. “You did say you love me,” she leans forward, meeting Lindsey’s lips with a peck. “Maybe you’ll get them for your birthday. There’s a note in there, too. FYI. Notice it’s not a <em> card </em>.”</p><p>It’s a literal sticky note, neon yellow at that, folded in half. “We make a great pair,” Lindsey reads as Emily continues to study her puzzle, but Emily can hear the smile in her voice without looking at her. “We do, baby. Come here,” Lindsey tugs the smaller woman into her lap. “Just so you know,” she brushes Emily’s hair out of her face, “we’re not trying to outdo this next year.”</p><p>“Whatever,” Emily mumbles against her girlfriend’s lips.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>FUWJUZ  TFU   TFKTV   WJCE   ZWZ,  OCK</p><p> </p><p>DK   KFLZA   F   ARZTDFH   RZEAJU   KJ</p><p> </p><p>AKZFH   WJCE   VZFEK.   </p><p> </p><p>D   HJPZ   WJC,   ZG.</p><p> </p><p>Hint:  F = A</p>
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